Why Not
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Because humans and half-elves simply don't work together (and neither do just-friends), that's why not… but just try telling that to Mithos. With Martel's stubborn little brother convinced that his sister and Kratos are made for one another, can either of them straighten out their feelings long enough to convince him otherwise? Pre-Yuan. I do not own Tales of Symphonia!


_For Viisauden, who deals with schoolwork while I deal with stories. In honor of ambiguous ships in both fact and fiction._

* * *

Kratos and I have been living this lie for awhile, but I've never really thought twice about the implications. Maybe, if I had, my little brother wouldn't try so hard to set us up.

It all started as a spur-of-the moment, defensive response to the suspicion of a single innkeeper. Initially, I thought that in a world like this, having a human along on our journey might lend some credibility. Given the widespread prejudice we encountered, as a pair of allegedly elven traveling siblings, Kratos might be able to act as an ambassador to humanity. But if anything, his involvement only seemed to make matters worse; after all, only rarely did _our kind_ associate with humans.

 _What's the relationship between you two?_ the innkeeper had asked, leaning forward on the front desk, and I had no idea know how to respond. I ought to have anticipated this kind of reaction earlier—but to be fair, it had only been a month since he'd joined us. Kratos and I exchanged a brief glance, but the expression in those deep brown eyes was as inscrutable as ever. Whatever we decided, we'd have to do it quickly.

Fortunately, Kratos and I were already standing close enough together that putting his arm around my waist did not come as a shock. _This is my wife,_ he told the innkeeper firmly, his voice full of that quiet power he usually reserved for enemies, and I nodded once, making a valiant effort to meet the stranger's eyes. _She and her brother are both elves,_ he added, gesturing towards Mithos huddling by the fireplace—thankfully too preoccupied with warming himself to contradict us.

After a very long and skeptical pause, during which Kratos pulled me comfortingly closer, the innkeeper finally acquiesced. But that was only the beginning of our hardships; that night, we had to explain to Mithos that for our own safety, Kratos and I would have to say we were husband and wife, so he would have to play along too.

 _But you're not really going to get married, are you?_ Mithos had asked, wide-eyed in consternation, and I sighed—but it was Kratos who answered, with a characteristically terse negative. My brother looked over his shoulder at me for confirmation, so I corroborated with a shake of my head and an admittedly weary smile of reassurance. Closing his eyes, evidently satisfied, Mithos finally permitted me to comb his hair in the oddly comfortable silence that followed.

And that was his first and last complaint, much to my relief. He's always been possessive, after all, since I'm his only family and practically raised the poor child; he can't stand the idea of losing me, or even sharing me. Thankfully, ever since Kratos accepted his (tentative) request to teach him swordplay a few months ago, he's relaxed quite a bit around him. He's always admired the man, even if he wouldn't admit it till recently; only after becoming his student did he allow himself to openly display his respect.

It's been almost a year since Kratos first referred to me as his wife, and I'm almost ashamed to say that this façade has practically become second nature. I find myself automatically thinking of him as my husband now and again, even though it's not particularly easy to get close to him. He's not one to show his emotions, after all. But Mithos is remarkably perceptive for his age; even when I'm still not sure what Kratos thinks, he'll generally translate for me.

But that sensitivity isn't always a good thing, as I discovered a few evenings ago. Nothing special marked that day, as I recall. Just traveling as usual, this time through the forests of Sylvarant in summer. There was nothing to hint at the conversation that would unfold that evening, just as Mithos drained the last of the water in his carved wooden cup—a prized keepsake from Heimdall I'd taken with me all those years ago.

"Hey, Martel," he began, looking up at me from by the campfire with suppressed anticipation in his bright blue eyes. I expected him to ask me to sing, as was our tradition after dinner… but instead, the next words out of his mouth were "Why don't you marry Kratos?"

I froze in shock, staring at him. Where was _this_ coming from? "I… ah," I began, struggling to find the right words. Kratos is a good man and a handsome one, and we all know it perhaps too well. He and I share an understated sort of affection, laced with a… largely… unaddressed attraction; yet we were not—are not—in love. How could I possibly explain the nuance of such a complicated connection to a nine-year-old?

A heavy sigh and a movement in my peripheral vision drew me back into the scene. "Kratos?" I added helplessly, turning to face him; how long had I been among my confused thoughts? But he did not reply. Having arisen from the log we shared by way of bench, he sank gracefully to one knee, bowing his head and placing a fist over his heart as if in some sort of pledge.

Only a moment before he spoke did I realize what he was going to say, and I shook my head, my eyes widening. "Martel Yggdrasill," murmured Kratos, gazing up at me, "will you marry me?" His eyes searched mine, full of what might have been veiled amusement at my clear shock… but at the time, I was too flustered to notice. When he chose to speak, he spoke well, and sweetly.

"I—what?" I gasped, feeling myself flush. "N-no! I mean, ah," I stammered, brought up short as I hastily tried to backtrack. What if I'd offended him? Such was the class difference between the two of us that, were he so inclined, he'd be able to have me executed for refusing him. (I may trust Kratos with my life and more, but that kind of fear is instinctive for half-elves.)

Fortunately, he didn't seem especially surprised; if anything, he'd expected that reaction. " _That's_ why," he told Mithos expressionlessly, straightening up again with a brief and almost bored exhalation. I glanced self-consciously over at my brother to find him staring between the two of us, openmouthed. Kratos, meanwhile, simply took his seat next to me and drank deeply from his flask, as if nothing had happened.

I frowned, unsure as to whether I ought to be more relieved or offended that my rejection had meant so little to him. However, my brother's indignant voice burst into my thoughts before I could speculate further: "Sis!" exclaimed Mithos, getting to his feet and clenching his fists with the passion of his displeasure. "How could you just turn him down like that!"

Raising my eyebrows at the force of his reaction, I leaned forward earnestly. "We have a few more important things to worry about right now," I told him, as gently as possible, but he only crossed his arms, scowling fiercely. "Stopping this war, for instance," I added, by way of example.

"But you're already pretending," he insisted petulantly. "It wouldn't be that hard to do it for real. They don't test you in Sylvarant, right?" he persisted, and I bit my lip. In Tethe'alla, it was the custom to screen all would-be brides and grooms for elven blood prior to signing the marriage contract. Any human entering into an interracial marriage would have to provide an additional signature, officially lowering their status to that of their spouse.

It was true that no such abominable practice existed in Sylvarant, but that little tidbit didn't work in my favor at the moment; I took a deep breath, meeting my brother's gaze as levelly as possible. "I don't love him like that, Mithos." There; I said it. Both of us glanced over at Kratos, who regarded each of us in turn, as impassively as ever—lending neither of us his aid.

"If you don't love him like that, why would you _kiss_ him like that?" he retorted, looking me dead in the eye: a shock like lightning seemed to stop my heart for a beat or two, and I almost flinched. About a month ago, in a Tethe'allan inn, shortly after Mithos had gone upstairs to bed—but it had been Kratos's idea, and even that was—well, it hadn't been what it undoubtedly looked like. Mostly.

 _See that man?_ he'd asked, scooting his barstool closer to me, and nodded towards the door: I traced his gaze to a young dark-haired nobleman leaning casually against the wall. _He's been watching you._

My eyes widened. _Does he recognize us?_ I managed, afraid to look too closely. If there's one thing I've learned about the human world over the eight years I've traveled within it, it's that our innocence has no effect on whether we'll be persecuted. Standing out could prove fatal; the penalty for even the most minor of half-elven crimes is death, and they'd have reason to believe we had a hand in Meltokio's destruction. They'd just laugh if we told them we'd been trying to prevent it, and then execute us all.

 _I don't think so_ , replied Kratos, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. _He's probably just infatuated, but that could prove equally dangerous._ He took a last, resolute draught from his tankard, getting to his feet. _We'll want to make it clear you're not who he's after._

 _How?_ I asked warily, shifting in place, wondering if I should stand as well. Were we leaving? But Kratos stepped forward and gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, glancing backwards, and I understood. He was shielding me from vision, interrupting our potential adversary's line of sight.

As I looked up at Kratos for instruction, our eyes locked. In the dim light, his were darker than usual, unexpectedly intense (though I couldn't name the emotion in their depths if I tried), and I found myself powerless to tear my gaze away from his. What alarmed me most was that it wasn't an unpleasant sensation, this tingling sort of warmth enveloping me. Was this…? No. Definitely not.

I found myself uncrossing my legs, barely conscious of my own actions, yet at the same time sharply aware of Kratos's. He smiled faintly, his eyes flicking briefly to the motion before returning to my face. _Good,_ he whispered, raising his hand to brush my cheek. _That's a good sign._

 _What is?_ I asked, but my words were hushed too, trembling under the weight of my quickening heartbeat. _What are you doing?_ I continued, the sound of my own voice alien to my ears. I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol (though Kratos had offered to buy me some), yet here I sat, drunk on something I knew was not quite love. What could it be? I'd never felt this peculiar kind of excitement before.

 _You're going to have to trust me,_ he breathed, but all I could think about was that I'd never kissed anyone before—besides Mithos, that is, but he obviously doesn't count—and I had no idea what to expect. Well, I supposed, I was about to find out. Leaning down and in, he half-closed his eyes, and our lips had finally met…

"Enough, Mithos," said Kratos, his distant voice recalling me from my memories; I realized abruptly that I had made no answer, though I had opened my mouth: I closed it abruptly, unable to focus on either him or my brother, though I could feel both pairs of eyes scorching my face. "Martel needn't settle for a human like me."

"But, Kratos," protested Mithos, looking me up and down curiously.

"It comes down to this," interrupted Kratos, getting to his feet and crossing his arms imperiously; Mithos's expression became suddenly meek as he gazed up at his _much_ taller instructor. With any luck, he'd be intimidated into silence for the evening. "I asked a question, and she answered it. That's all."

"How can you be so calm?" demanded Mithos, almost before he finished speaking, and took a single confrontational step forward; Kratos only raised his visible eyebrow, standing his ground. "Don't you care about her?" he continued in a mumble, glancing at me swiftly.

"Of course." There wasn't the slightest hesitation in Kratos's reply, and I smiled over at him briefly. After almost a year of travel, Mithos and I both knew well enough that it was true, but to hear the sentiment spoken aloud so conclusively was undeniably reassuring, given his taciturn nature.

Mithos, however, was not satisfied. "But do you _love_ her?" insisted Mithos stubbornly, and I found myself holding my breath. What could Kratos say? Either answer would result only in Mithos's vehement objection, either at his indifference or at his falsehood. I found myself curious, too, about what his reaction would be. Perhaps more than I should have been.

It's altogether too easy to forget that Kratos, despite his often laconic demeanor, is an evasive and skillful man. "If Martel doesn't want to marry me, my own feelings are irrelevant," he remarked smoothly, though I noted a bite of impatience in his quiet voice. "Surely we should both respect your sister's wishes?" he added pointedly, almost dangerously.

"I _guess_ ," muttered Mithos sullenly, bowing his head in reluctant submission, but sneaked in a brief glare.

This did not escape Kratos's notice. Shaking his head, his instructor let out a long breath. "Are you ready for today's lesson?" he asked, resting a hand on the hilt of his ever-present longsword. Flamberge is too distinctive for a mere mercenary to wield in battle, but even his ordinary weapon is a beautiful one; his time as a captain in the Tethe'allan Knights has evidently given him an eye for good steel.

"Yeah." Plainly still upset, Mithos offered an abrupt affirmative and bent to take up his own weapon. Though relatively tall for his age, my brother still stands at only four and a half feet—too slight to wield most full-sized weapons. But Kratos had graciously spent quite a bit of time and money searching for a properly balanced blade, until finally he commissioned one from a well-known dwarven craftsman.

"Then let's go," finished Kratos simply, and started walking without further ado; Mithos hesitated, but scampered after him with only a single look back, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the firelight… and the dishes.

* * *

"Were you serious?"

Honestly, I was surprised to hear myself speak—even softly, so as not to wake Mithos. Kratos had worked him much harder than usual tonight, no doubt as repayment for the trouble he'd given us; when they'd returned from the grove, perhaps a quarter of an hour ago, my brother had barely stumbled back before he flopped over next to the dying fire and closed his eyes with an exhausted mumble that might have been _good night_.

Kratos laughed, glancing at me out the corner of his eye, and took another sip from his flask. (I never know what he keeps in there.) "What do you think?" he returned lightly, and I gave a tentative smile. Of course he hadn't been serious; I still don't know why I asked.

"It was just… a very quick reaction," I explained haltingly, almost defensively, staring at the last embers of the fire. Almost _too_ quick. That was the thing I didn't understand; Kratos is an enigmatic man, but all motivations aside, he certainly has a good deal of dignity. Staging a proposal, all the while knowing that I would never accept, seemed unlike him.

"Well, he was bound to ask someday," sighed Kratos, examining his flask for a moment before giving a slight shrug and draining it altogether. "Call it an inevitability. Especially after the incident a few weeks ago," he added, focusing on me sharply, and thankfully had the grace to return his burning eyes to the fire as he heard my breath catch. "You were thinking about that."

"Yes," I told him, reluctantly; we hadn't talked about it, but Mithos had noticed whatever it was that was between us. "Because… that was… my first kiss."

Kratos nodded once, shortly, as if distracted. "I gathered." He wavered in place as if meaning to get up and leave me; silently, I willed him to stay. Sensing my need for acknowledgment, some sort of reassurance, he gave a drawn-out sigh as though relaxing, but his mannerisms seemed more agitated than ever. "I'm sorry," muttered Kratos, running a hand somewhat awkwardly through his shaggy hair.

Well, an apology certainly wasn't what I expected, but I supposed it was better than dodging the subject entirely. "For what?" I asked, tilting my head.

"That it had to be with someone you don't love," he returned, raising his eyebrows in apparent surprise that I hadn't taken offense. It was true that I would have preferred we address this subject _before_ he proposed to me, however jokingly, but I still found myself giggling. Was that really all he was worried about? It had hardly been what you'd call an unpleasant experience, after all. I didn't understand it, but that didn't mean I didn't enjoy it, in my own loveless way.

"Don't worry about it," I told him, and—after a pause as he evaluated the earnestness of my expression—he bowed his head in relief; I could hear him let out a soft breath. "Besides, a kiss isn't so bad," I continued, as teasingly as I dared, and sat on my hands, unsure what to do with myself. "There are plenty of other firsts that I'd regret much more."

Kratos paused as if in contemplation, smiling knowingly as he glanced at me out the corner of his eye. "If you say so," he murmured eventually, shaking his head, and I could feel myself turning red. (Thank goodness the fading firelight was probably too dim for him to tell.) He was undoubtedly thinking about how I had uncrossed my legs, and he'd been watching my eyes so closely; my pupils had probably dilated, too. It may not be love, but it was enough to…

"So," I ventured a little too quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters, "you decided the best way to convince him a marriage wouldn't work was to propose on the spot?" It was an unconventional method at best, a needlessly elaborate scheme.

"I thought he would only accept your rejection if he saw it in person," admitted Kratos. "I may have been… hasty." He looked at me again, guardedly, his expression as unreadable as ever—but something in his eyes told me it was at least partially because he too had been curious about how I would react.

"He still put up a good fight," I smiled, forcing myself not to dwell on the matter. Whatever was between us was by its very nature undefined, so I doubted very much whether searching for a definition anyway would yield anything but frustration.

"That he did," agreed Kratos with something of a smile, poking the fire lazily and watching a few sparks soar up to mingle with the stars. "He argued with me all the way to the clearing, telling me I should try again—even gave me some advice. The only reason he stopped was because he didn't have the breath after we started sparring." He paused, sighing. "It would seem he's more invested in the idea than I imagined."

"He really does look up to you," I told Kratos apologetically, automatically trying to justify my brother's actions. _And who can blame him?_ I added to myself, but decided it was best to avoid anything that might be considered flirtation and simply continued, somewhat lamely, "You know he does."

"He must, if he's willing to entrust his only family to me," laughed Kratos quietly, clasping his hands before him, and it seemed like the discussion was over. After weeks of nameless tension, everything had been resolved. But something still nagged at the back of my mind. The proposal had been rigged; he had clearly bet on my refusal. So…

"What would you have done if I'd—?" The question tumbled from my lips half against my will, and I actually pressed a few fingers to my mouth before I'd said the last couple words, cutting myself off.

But Kratos still understood, turning his head slowly to look me up and down curiously; I tugged at various parts of my dress nervously, fully expecting him to ignore me; there was a long silence, but eventually, he sighed and shifted in place. "Married you, I would imagine," he mumbled finally, looking up at the stars.

" _What_?"

I stared at Kratos, stunned, as he met my eyes somewhat reluctantly. "Would you rather I broke your heart?" he asked dryly, raising his eyebrows, and I scowled at him. I'm hardly what you'd call short-tempered; I've experienced enough hardships raising my brother that I can handle just about anything. Except, apparently, _this_. "Mithos would never forgive me."

"That would be less painful than marrying a man who does not love me!" I exclaimed, curling my hands into fists, and only remembered to keep my voice down when Mithos stirred with a faint and sleepy utterance. I froze for what must have been a full minute, with only my pulse and the crackle of dying flames to break the all-pervasive silence, before finally relaxing. "How could a highborn gentleman like yourself even _suggest_ leading a woman on like that?" I whispered fiercely, keeping half an eye on my brother.

A frown flitted across Kratos's face, so quickly it might have been a trick of the firelight. "No one said I would be leading you on," he said slowly, crossing his arms and leaning forward; at his words, I could have exploded. Maybe I shouldn't have broached the subject. Maybe I should have just gone to sleep and pretended this had never happened. But no, I was too curious for my own good.

"But—you told me you weren't serious!" I snapped, as quietly as possible.

"And I was telling the truth," said Kratos evenly; as I continued to meet his eyes, half-affectionate anger lending me courage enough to look him full in the face, he finally gave a long sigh and bowed his head again in a gesture of submission: I frowned, my irritation faltering. _That_ was unusual; he had a very authoritative attitude, and his gaze was an intimidating one, able to pierce through almost anything.

"All I'm trying to say is… don't sell yourself short," sighed Kratos eventually, looking up again with an effort. "In love or not, no man could ever be unhappy with you as a wife. You should remember that." I blinked in surprise, all my lingering annoyance vanishing like campfire smoke. As a half-elf, hearing something like that from a human was touching, to say the least. Especially a human like _him_.

I wasn't sure how to respond to this kindness and praise from such a severe man, but it didn't seem to matter. "Get some rest," remarked Kratos, turning away, and his face might have been a little red—or maybe that was just the ruddy light of the last few embers. (I like to think he's just inept at compliments, because he has to have _some_ flaws.) "I'll take the first watch."

"Thank you," I told him somewhat uncertainly, getting to my feet and stretching. "For everything," I clarified hastily. "Not just the watch."

Kratos only laughed gently. "Don't thank me," he said, sincerely, as I made my way to where I had set up my cot on the soft summer grass, a few feet away. "Just… promise me something," he said, as an afterthought. "Promise me, when you find a man who can make you happy," he continued, so quietly I had to step closer again to hear, "you won't place your duty above that happiness."

I nodded, then remembered that Kratos was facing away from me and murmured, "Yes," then hesitated; would it be too bold to ask something in return? Well, I'd come this far; I may as well continue: "But I want you to make me a promise, too." A noncommittal grunt in response told me he was listening, and I smiled; that was as much as I could hope for. "Next time Mithos asks about this, help me out instead of just standing by like that, will you?"

"Believe me, I'm doing all I can," Kratos remarked, on the verge of a laugh, as I sat down. "Maybe if you'd stop blushing every time you look at me, he'll figure it out faster."

"And maybe if _you'd_ stop staring at me when you think I'm not looking," I retorted with immediacy that surprised even me, and he glanced over his shoulder in apparent shock before turning to face the fire and shaking his head. "Good night, Kratos," I laughed, when he offered no further response, and playfully tossed a pebble at his back before lying down.

He gave a soft growl of annoyance as the little rock found its mark, but his voice was no less warm for it, washing over me like the flickering firelight as I closed my eyes in contented exhaustion: "Good night, Martel."


End file.
